To Gabriel, Nick does not look like Lucifer. They’re brothers after all—were? Do you stop being brothers when one of you dies? He isn’t sure. All Gabriel knows is he’s known Lucifer too long for the last person he happened to wear to have lodged in his mind as being the essence of him.
So when he plops himself down in a chair across from Nick the empty table between them isn’t a barrier to keep the former vessel of the big scary devil away. It’s just a place to put the slice of cake he’s conjured himself.
He conjures one up for Nick too, on a weirdly ornate plate patterened with dancing coyotes because he’s a jerk but he’s not a complete ass.
Well, not all the time.
The first forkful of decadent chocolate cake Gabriel manages in silence. Because the guy had been sitting quietly before he’d showed up and maybe that meant it had been his plan for the day. But then again, maybe Nick was only sitting in silence because he hadn’t had anyone around to talk to. And now he does! What luck.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the Mothman,” he says with his second forkful of cake held aloft, “The statue they made of him specifically.” He gestures for Nick to eat before doing so himself.
“And actually, it’s pretty messed up that they assigned the Mothman a gender—right there in his name too, no regard at all for self-identifying cryptids and their preferences. Although I guess he had plenty of chances to correct them and he didn’t so maybe they got it right.” Gabriel pauses, thoughtful and distracted by his own twisting logic.
As if to prove his own inability to track the path of his thoughts Gabriel barely pauses to swallow before he says:
“Do you know how to drive?”
And then he lets that sit as he takes another bite of cake and smiles at Nick with a finger held aloft—an indicator that he should wait a moment.
“Because I have it on good authority that while I can get behind the wheel and make a car go I’m not a good or safe driver.” Punctuated with a wave of his fork and a roll of his eyes. “Whatever that means.”
“So basically what I’m trying to say is what I want to do is drive to West Virginia and see the statue again, confirm with my own eyes that it’s got an eight-pack and notable bulge and I’d like to make a road trip out of it. But for a road trip you need a person who can drive and you seem like you could stand to get out and breathe some fresh air so maybe you could come along. If that’s something you’re interested in I mean.”
“Think about it. Let me know. We’ve got time.” And with that he scoops the last bit of cake from his plate, fork scraping the chocolate away to reveal a design featuring his own smiling face.
